After After Hours
by Ameliorably
Summary: Sequel to After Hours. Light level H/M, Some budding friendship and hangovers. "What did we do last night?" "Nothing, well, not quite nothing. The kind of nothing that means we're both still fully clothed." "Pierce!" "Oh we're back to Pierce now are we?" "What's that supposed to mean?" she wasn't about to think about it, so indignance was the next option.


**AN: This one-shot turned into a two shot, so here's part two. Hope you enjoy!**

There were a few pressing things Margaret noticed as she gained consciousness. One was that she was horribly, horrifically hungover and probably still drunk, and two was the fact that she appeared to be lying half on top of somebody; a male somebody. Strange, I've never let Frank stay over before. But before she'd even finished that thought she knew it wasn't Frank. Frank would never let her get drunk like this, and she had a strange feeling that she spent last night with Hawkeye, only she couldn't remember the details. Oh please god no. She took note of the soft, cotton undershirt against her cheek, meaning that his uniform was unbuttoned, and the smells of male sweat, blue eyes and gin. She knew blue eyes didn't have a smell, but she associated them so strongly with him that they may as well. Her head was throbbing too hard to tilt it up and look at his face, so instead she flipped over the dog tag that was lying next to her face and flipped it over: Pierce, Benjamin F.

This was precisely what she'd been afraid of. Margaret had had more than one dream that went something like this, but she'd rather die than tell him that. She quickly squashed the part of herself that wanted to leap out of bed and start abusing him because she was fairly sure that she was going to vomit if she moved too far. Besides, he was both still asleep and made a very nice place to lie. Margaret gently lifted the covers to check their state of undress and was relieved to find that the only thing they weren't wearing was boots.

"Will you quit moving, Margaret?"

"Sorry" she mumbled without thinking. It was far easier than arguing in this state.

This amused him, thought he wasn't feeling a whole heap better than she was and only managed a smile. So here they were, the morning after getting very drunk, lying in bed together because it hurt too much to move. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on either of them. Eventually Margaret worked up the courage to ask the main question she'd been dreading. "What did we do last night?"

"Nothing, well, not quite nothing. The kind of nothing that means we're both still fully clothed."

"Pierce!"

"Oh we're back to Pierce now are we?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she wasn't about to think about it, so indignance was the next option.

"You called me Hawkeye when you asked me to kiss you."

"I...I did not! She says hotly, getting louder with each utterance.

"Which one, call me Hawkeye or ask for a kiss? Because you did, and we did, and then you asked for more."

She gapes, starting to flush in anger and embarrassment, head pounding.

"I...we were...you! You took advantage of me!" she fully yells.

"Ah jeez, do you mind, Margaret? I'm trying to have a hangover here."

"Shhhhh" she hisses, suffering from her own noisiness.

"I did not take advantage of you," he murmured hotly in her ear. She shudders in spite of herself. "Besides," he continues, "If you don't believe me, ask Klinger."

"Klinger!" she shrieks.

"Margaret!" Hawkeye pleads.

"Sorry" she winces again as her voice penetrates her own skull. "What's Klinger got to do with anything?" she's not sure she actually wants to know, but knowing that that dress-wearing freak show knows more about her night than she does is a mortifying thought.

"He found us playing tonsil hockey in the middle of the compound."

Margaret groans in horror. They'd be lucky if this wasn't all over camp by the time they crawled out of her tent.

"Should we get out of bed?" Hawkeye suddenly asks, though whether he's trying to lessen the awkwardness of the situation or something else she doesn't know.

"No" she feels revolting and absolutely does not want him to move, and she's not moving until her bladder tells her it's about to explode.

"Why Margaret, all my dreams have come true" he smarms halfheartedly.

"Shut up." she bites out, but there's trouble coming; the waves of nausea she's been fighting since waking up are getting stronger and stronger until she can't hold it in anymore and she vomits off the side of her bed, catching Hawkeye's hand in the process. After a brief moment of shock and revulsion he bursts out laughing. "Margaret!" he says with glee, "You're a Major chucker!"

She groans and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She should use clean hand as payback. "If you tell anyone about this I'll kill you" she rasps.

"Not before your hangover does." He had her there. "Margaret Houlihan," he announces jokingly, "Major Disaster."

She pinches him. "Ow! Hey Margaret?"

"Mmm?"

"I need to visit the latrine sometime soon or I'll wet your bed." Oh.

She was having a similar problem but was more concerned about now throwing up in front of more people on the way to the latrine. Hawkeye gentle moved her over and disentangled their limbs before getting up. He groaned as his protesting body adjusted to his vertical status. Hangovers after the age of 30 were cruel.

"Okay, I'll go over there and do what I've gotta do and then go and get you a drink and whatever else I can find to help you recover. Any special requests?"

"A bedpan" she says dryly.

Hawkeye gawps for a second. That hadn't quite been what he was expecting.

"Not really, I should probably get up in a minute but I'm not sure how I'll go."

Just wait here for a minute, I'll grab some things and come back and then I'll help you go over there. Margaret blushed. "Why are you helping me?"

Hawkeye looked slightly taken aback before simply replying with "Why not?" he then leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead before pulling on his boots and stumbling out into the light.

Hawkeye was on his way back from the latrine and had almost made it to post op in search of a B12 shot and anti nausea drugs when Trapper found him, "Hey, where have you been, and why are you holding your hand out like that?"

"None of your business, and because it has vomit on it."

"Who's, yours?" Trapper asks, disgust evident in his voice

"Nope" Hawkeye tries to keep his voice as nonchalant as he could

Trapper eyes him suspiciously before mumbling "I'm going to regret this" and sniffing Hawkeye's uniform.

"Hmm, alcohol, sweat, and nurse. But the question is, which nurse?"

Hawkeye sighs, "Try 5'6", blonde, likes giving orders, but it's not what you think!"

"You've got Hot Lips' chunder on your hand, and just what is it that I was thinking?"

"Look, it's a long story, but I promised I'd help get her in a fit enough state to get her to the latrine."

"What in the…?"

But it was too late, Hawkeye was gone. Just then Klinger sidled up to Trapper conspiratorially and murmured "Do you know what I saw last night while I was on guard duty?"

"No, what?" Trapper replied in kind.

"Captain Pierce and Major Houlihan kissing in the middle of camp, they were all over each other!"

Trappers eye's widened and he turned and yelled, "Hawkeye!", but Hawkeye simply put up his hand and waved without turning around, making a beeline for the wash room. His hand stank.

Back in her tent Margaret was trying with a high level of futility to make heads or tails of what had happened since she'd walked into the empty officer's club and helped herself to a bottle of scotch. She remembered she'd already had a few drinks when Hawkeye'd come in, and she'd been glad for the company but annoyed at his presence, then she remembered talking about being tired and being sick of Frank, but, try as she might, she just couldn't remember any more. Not being able to remember wasn't bothering her as much as she was expecting it to, though. He was just so damn relaxed about it all.

"Hi honey, I'm home!"

Margaret grunted in response.

"Which one do you want first and where?" He held up two vials and syringes.

"What are they?" she asks, slightly worried.

"B12 and an anti-emetic."

"The anti-emetic, and I don't care." as far as she was concerned, all dignity was lost anyway.

He gently took hold of her arm and gave her the shots, anywhere else was too hard to access anyway. Margaret couldn't believe that he'd just passed up an opportunity to get a look at her butt.

"Just lie there for a few minutes and you should start to feel better"

"Thank you" she says quietly, finding herself slightly overwhelmed at his gentleness with her.

"Anytime" he says looking at her evenly.

"I'll just go and get you a drink of water and come back and clean your floor, oh, and Margaret?"

"Yes?" she whispers, feeling gravity set back into the situation.

"If you ever get sick of Ferret Face you know where to find me" joking slightly

"I am sick of Ferret Face" she admits quietly before she can stop herself.

"Well then," Hawkeye walks over to her, suddenly very serious, cups her face gently and gives her a lingering kiss on the lips. "When you're ready, if you're ever ready, come and find me." and with that he gets up and leaves, leaving Margaret to ponder her future.


End file.
